


Bloodlines

by chibi_nightowl



Category: Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Adoption, Found Family, Gen, Language, Sibling Bonding, Validation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22117774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl
Summary: “Mr. Drake, I can’t think of a better way to say this, so I’ll just be blunt. This file is for your first adoption. By the Drakes.”Tim blinked. “My what?”“You were adopted as a newborn by Jack and Janet Drake.”“Excuse me, but what thefuckare you talking about?”
Comments: 645
Kudos: 1929





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [exiled-one (mistralle)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistralle/gifts).



> Once again, the lovely exiled-one is my Discord server giftee for our annual holiday exchange! Don't worry, this fic will come along much faster than the one from last year!
> 
> Also, much love and thanks to txbookeater for the amazing beta!

It was common for Tim to wander out of the office for his lunch hour. He needed the time to himself, to wind down and decompress from the stress of the morning and to brace for the afternoon ahead. Not all days were bad, but he found that the older he got, the more he enjoyed the challenges thrown at him by WE. 

There was still a massive thrill from solving a particularly complex case, but if he didn’t have to go out on a hot night where temperatures just about matched the humidity level, then that was a good night. Dick was starting to joke Tim was semi-retired and the more he thought about it, the more apt it sounded. 

Whatever. Someone had to keep the Bats in their toys, and it might as well be him. Even Damian had been forced to admit that fact, which was really saying something, considering their rocky relationship. 

The cafe Tim found himself in today was several blocks from the towering pinnacle that was WE, far enough away that he was just another young guy in a suit who stopped by for a quick bite. Habits being what they were, he still found himself ordering a salad and grilled chicken breast even though he had no plans to hit the streets later. How Dick managed to keep the physique he did with his irregular diet was a mystery Tim still hadn’t solved. 

He sat in the corner, the worn booth facing the door and giving him a good line of sight into the kitchen, scrolling through the newsfeeds on his phone. Boring food consumed, he slowly sipped at his iced tea, putting off leaving for as long as possible in the face of the summer sun beating down outside. Why he wandered this far today was beyond him. 

A quick glance out the window told him hoofing it would still be faster than an Uber. The streets were crowded from the lunch rush. Dammit. If he left now, he could dart up to the penthouse for a quick shower and change his dress shirt before his next meeting. Soaked armpits were never pretty and he needed every tool in his arsenal to maintain that cool veneer of professionalism in the corporate world.

Plan made, Tim finished his tea and laid a twenty on the table, more than enough to cover his meal plus tip. The waitress was harried enough, no need to make her life harder by getting a ticket for a bill he knew by heart. 

Before he got very far, an old, white-haired businessman stood from the counter and blocked his path to the door. They bumped into each other in the narrow space, shoulders knocking.

“Sorry about that,” Tim said just as the other man did the same. 

Their eyes met and to his surprise, the older man grinned. “Well, I’ll be. Timothy Drake.”

Tim smiled politely, because what else could he do? “That’s me.” 

“You may not remember me, but I’m Jeremy Hocking.” The man held out a wrinkled hand. “I was your mother’s personal attorney for a number of years.” 

Shaking Hocking’s hand, Tim’s smile grew into a grin. He remembered the man now, a lawyer with a spine of steel given he’d had to deal with Janet Drake on a regular basis. “Wow, it has been a while. I think we met a couple times when Mom was in town?”

“Yes, and you were always the most well-mannered young man when she dragged you into the office with her.” Hocking laughed quietly. “Let’s face it, what little boy wanted to sit and listen to old folks discuss business?” 

That was pretty much what Tim remembered. “Not me, but it served me well for what I do these days.” 

“I can only imagine.” Hocking sobered and lowered his voice. “I’m actually glad I ran into you. I’ve been trying to figure out how to contact you about a box of papers belonging to your mother. I’m retiring finally and when I started cleaning out my old files, I came across them. There’s something in the box I think is important for you to have.”

Tim’s curiosity was immediately piqued, as well as the caution years of vigilantism drilled into him. “I get the feeling you don’t want to discuss the contents here.”

Hocking shook his white head. “No, I don’t. Would you be willing to meet me at my office sometime soon? Or I can come to Wayne Tower with the files?” 

“I’m booked solid tomorrow, but I always take a half day on Fridays.” It also gave him time to run a background check and make sure he wasn’t just being paranoid. Oh, the days when he could take a person’s word at face value. Those were long gone.

“Excellent. So do I these days.” Hocking reached into his trouser pockets and removed a small clip with some business cards. “Thank you, Mr. Drake — I mean, Mr. Wayne.”

Tim brushed it off, accepting the card he was handed. The address was familiar but so were most Gotham addresses to one who spent their nights running the rooftop highway. “I go by both and I answer to both. I’ll give you a call when I’m on my way Friday.” 

“I look forward to it.”

* * *

In this particular instance, it appeared he was just being paranoid. Tim leaned back in his chair, reading the data compilation his supercomputer spit out later that evening. It wouldn’t be the first time, but he hadn’t made it to twenty-three doing what he did if he didn’t trust his instincts. 

His gut still said something was wrong here. However, on the surface, everything was above board, or as above board as an attorney in Gotham could be. 

Jeremy Hocking was seventy-one, almost seventy-two, which explained his desire for retirement. Married, two kids, and four grandchildren. His wife was the office manager for his practice and one of the kids was named a partner as of five years ago, probably to be groomed into replacing her father. The practice was primarily estate law these days, but way back when, Hocking did some general law. That would explain how Janet Drake knew him. She must have had him on retainer. 

There was nothing to raise any red flags in Hocking’s financial records, aside from a large withdrawal for a down payment on a home in Nevada. The money came from a retirement account that had long carried a more than sufficient balance, so it was apparently being used for what it was intended for – a retirement home in an income tax free state with a hell of a lot milder climate than the utterly insane weather that Gotham saw. 

Perfectly acceptable behavior for a soon-to-be retiree. 

The only thing Tim questioned was Hocking’s taste because Nevada was _hot_ in the summer. Then again, no hurricanes. Or snow. 

What did the old attorney want to give him? Tim idly twirled a pen, clicking the end each time it passed close enough to his thumb, thinking. He had copies of everything important, or so he believed. Or rather, he had copies of everything his dad had kept after his mom died. Those then passed on to him after Jack’s murder. He’d digitized the files when he moved into his renovated theater apartment. The originals were almost all shredded as they weren’t relevant anymore. Drake Industries was no more. 

Shoving that thought aside, Tim turned his thoughts back on Hocking. If he remembered right, the old man was Janet’s personal attorney rather than Jack’s. It was entirely possible whatever he’d found were files that Jack never knew existed. 

Tim chuckled, lips quirking up briefly as a thought occurred to him. Knowing his mom, it wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest that she’d been involved with something that she wanted kept from her husband. Whatever it was, it was bound to be interesting because Janet Drake never did anything by halves. 

Must be where he got it from.

* * *

Hocking’s law firm was in an old, tired office tower that had seen better days. This part of Old Gotham was full of buildings like this. Many were owned by Bruce in some capacity, which meant they stood tall in the aftermath of the quake while their newer counterparts fell to the ground. Some facelifts were done after No-Man’s Land was over, but for the most part, this area gave off a vibe of times long past. Tim loved this part of the city with its grapple-friendly old stone facades. It was one of the few places in the entire city where he felt like he could fly. 

The elevator gave no sign it was as old as the building around it, smoothly delivering him to the 15th floor with a quiet hum and some muzak. The door opened up onto a typical hallway lined with offices. Windows on either end of the hall shone white in the afternoon sun and the occasional potted plant gave a natural touch to the otherwise tan-on-brown that was the rest of the floor. 

Turning left, Tim made his way down the hall and came to a stop just before the windows. The frosted glass on the door read “Hocking & Calhoun” and in smaller print beneath “Attorneys at Law”. 

A bit old-fashioned, he supposed, but it had its charm. 

Upon opening the door, he was greeted by Hocking himself. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Drake,” the old attorney said, shaking Tim’s automatically outstretched hand. “Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice.” 

“I’ll admit, you got me curious. I thought I had everything of importance already from Dad’s files.” 

Hocking smiled as he gestured for Tim to follow him into his office. “Does it really surprise you that your mother kept her files separate?”

Clearly, this man had known his mother well.

“No, it doesn’t.” 

Hocking’s office was bare of most of the knickknacks and bookcases Tim hazily remembered from the few times he’d been here as a child. Cardboard boxes were stacked along the walls and the walls were bare, with only the lighter outlines of old picture frames standing out in stark contrast to the aged paint. On the heavy oak desk sat a computer monitor that was easily ten years old, clunky and boxy compared to the thinner, sleeker monitors of more recent years. On the blotter – who even used those anymore? – sat a smaller cardboard box about the height of a shoebox. 

Tim took a seat in front of the desk, unslinging his messenger bag while Hocking walked around. 

Before he sat down, the lawyer paused. “I’m so used to having Annie here to ask this for me. Can I get you a drink? Water, coffee?” 

“Thanks, but I’m good.” Tim patted his bag. “I’ve got water in here.” 

First rule of paranoia: never accept a drink when he didn’t have to. 

“Good, good,” Hocking replied, sitting down heavily in his office chair. The old leather creaked around him. “Annie is my wife,” he continued, apparently feeling the need to explain. “She’s been running this place since we started it over forty years ago. Our daughter is taking over the practice, and she’s already hired a new office manager that Annie is showing the ropes to. They’re all out to lunch right now.” 

“That’s quite a long time,” Tim said, impressed. It also confirmed what he’d discovered the other night. “Forty years. You must be looking forward to retirement.” 

“I won’t miss Gotham,” Hocking stated in a flat tone. “There’s just too much that happens here for an old man like me to feel safe. Annie agrees, so we’re moving out west. Sure, it’s hotter, but my home insurance premiums are plummeting.” 

“I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Dad tried relocating us to Keystone during No-Man’s Land, but it was difficult. My stepmom and I, even Dad, well, we didn’t adjust and ended up coming back after the sanctions were lifted.” More like he hadn’t adjusted. Being Robin in a city that was used to the Flash just wasn’t a good fit. And then there was Steph and the baby – yeah, it had been a rough year for him.

“I’m glad you mentioned No-Man’s Land,” Hocking said, removing the lid from the box and rifling through it. Apparently small talk was over. “This building survived the quake, but we did leave the city for a time. Luckily for me, I kept all my older files in storage over in Gotham Heights, so the facility wasn’t overly damaged. If they’d been here, who knows what would have happened to them.” 

Tim kept his mouth shut. He knew full well what would have become of them. Burned for fuel during a cruel and cold winter. 

“Anyhow, they survived, and we returned, sensing a business opportunity. When I decided it was time to retire, I needed to go through what I had in storage. Boxes and boxes of old files. Most were copies I no longer needed to hold on to, but then I came across this box.” Hocking raised his eyes to catch Tim’s. “And I remembered what it contained.” 

“What?” Tim asked, wanting to get his hands on whatever was in that box. His sixth sense, that instinct warning him something big was about to happen, was screaming at him. 

Hocking removed a thick file folder. “Your adoption papers.” 

“My what?” Tim leaned forward, trying to get a glimpse. “I was adopted by Bruce Wayne when I was seventeen and I’m pretty sure he used a different lawyer for everything.” 

“Oh, he did. A powerful man like him has his own law team,” Hocking agreed. “Mr. Drake, I can’t think of a better way to say this, so I’ll just be blunt. This file is for your first adoption. By the Drakes.” 

Tim blinked. “My what?” 

“You were adopted as a newborn by Jack and Janet Drake.” 

“Excuse me, but _what the fuck_ are you talking about?” It was rare that Tim dropped f-bombs, but the current situation more than called for one. This was not what he’d come here expecting. At all. 

Hocking handed him the file. “Almost twenty-four years ago now, your parents adopted you. They were young and very focused on their careers. Drake Industries had been going through a period of sustained growth and they were thinking of the future. Janet did not want to take the time off from her busy schedule for pregnancy, so she and Jack decided adoption would be the route they’d take.” The attorney frowned. “They must not have told you.” 

Tim shook his head, feeling faint before the analytical side of his brain stepped in and shut down the emotions that were threatening to spill over. “No,” he managed. “Not a word.” 

None of this had been in his dad’s files. 

“Then I’m sorry to have to be the one to break this news to you.” 

“It’s just… a lot to take in.” 

Understatement of the millennium. 

“This was before surrogacy became a more common practice,” Hocking said, picking up his story. “An adoption agency was involved, one who represented the pregnant mother. The fees your parents paid to them covered her medical costs and living expenses for the duration of her pregnancy. I had an opportunity to meet your birth mother when the final forms were being signed. A remarkable young woman. Very smart. She knew she wasn’t in a place to raise a child and just wanted what was best for you.” 

The words didn’t mean much to Tim as he flipped through the forms. Legalese he’d spend more time deciphering later, but on the surface, everything here appeared legitimate. He knew all too well what he was doing, letting the detective take over. In the back of his mind, he could just hear Steph telling him he was pulling a Bruce and it wasn’t that far off the mark. 

Sometimes, having an emotionally constipated father figure who was a master of stoicism was a good thing. Really. 

Tim narrowed his eyes as he came across two seemingly identical documents. “Why do I have two birth certificates?” 

“When an adoption occurs, especially for a young child, an updated birth certificate is issued to the adoptive parents. Your original birth certificate and the adoption records are placed in a sealed file.” 

“I know that, but why are there two certificates if my original is supposed to be sealed?” He couldn’t help the testy tone. 

Hocking had the grace to glance away and cough into his hand. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have these at all. Your mother insisted, and when she wanted something, heaven help the person she perceived as standing in her way.”

That was a fair assessment of his mother. 

His mother. Who was not actually his mother now. 

The suppressed emotions surged inside him and Tim all but slammed the door on them, locking them down. He’d deal later, perhaps even have a spectacular breakdown after he ran a DNA test or five. But first, he had to get out of here with his dignity intact. 

“Thank you for bringing all this to my attention,” Tim said, standing. This meeting was over. “I’m not exactly pleased right now, but I can understand why you wanted me to have these.” 

“I appreciate your understanding,” Hocking replied, doing the same and gently pushing the box toward him. “The rest of the documents in here are old tax matters for Janet, nothing quite so groundbreaking as that.” He gestured at the still open file on the desk. 

Tim nodded, making to return the documents to the folder. One slipped from his hand and fluttered to the floor. Kneeling, he picked it up. 

It was his birth certificate. His _original_ birth certificate. Born at Gotham General on July 19th at 11:37 in the morning, all this was familiar. But in the fields where he had read his parents names was something different. 

The name of his father was listed as unknown. 

The name of his mother had Tim sitting heavily on the floor, legs splayed and trying to process. A dull roar echoed in his ears and distantly, he could hear Hocking asking if he was alright. No, he wasn’t. 

He _knew_ this name, knew it rather well, actually. Had known it for years. The locked door on his emotions shook heavily. 

_Selina Kyle_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love and thanks to txbookeater for the beta. This chapter wouldn't be what it is without your guidance!

In the quiet safety of his home, Tim indulged in a meltdown. After the meeting he’d just had, he deserved it. The box with the file that had just changed his life sat innocently on the coffee table while he curled up in the corner behind his fish tank, shaking like a leaf. The quiet hum of the filtration system couldn’t be heard over his sucking breaths. A cornerstone of his very _identity_ had just been ripped away. Now, he was off-balance and falling. 

He wasn’t a Drake. He was… He was… 

He was still a Drake. 

Tim wiped his nose on a shirtsleeve and rose, letting the flood of anger propel him downstairs and into his gym. Hitting something sounded fantastic. 

Of all the people in the world, he knew firsthand just how little blood actually meant when it came to being a family. Dick and Jason, Cass, _him,_ they’d all been adopted by Bruce and while the man was quite possibly the absolute worst at expressing his emotions in a healthy manner, there was no doubt in his mind they were all loved. They were his family, the family he’d built up around him when his own had been taken away. 

Hell, Tim considered Kon, Bart, and Cassie to be his family too. Found family was a term he’d heard a few years back and it applied all too well to the close relationships he had with his three superpowered best friends. In a moment of rare openness, of vulnerability, he’d told them how he felt, what he believed. They’d all agreed with him, Kon even going so far as to smack him upside the head asking what had taken him so long to figure it out. 

Blood meant nothing. 

That didn’t make it any easier to deal with. 

Tim had enough sense to tape his hands before striking the punching bag. One jab became two, became three. He danced around the bag, methodically taking his imaginary opponent apart. The problem was, he didn’t know who he was fighting. 

His mom. His dad. Even Bruce’s face all flashed before his eyes. And then, his own. 

The last strike sent him reeling back to the floor, gasping and sobbing. Okay, so maybe blood meant something. A bit. 

Rolling onto his back, Tim draped an arm over his head and stared unseeingly at the ceiling. In all of this, not once had he actually focused his attention on the one person who could give him some answers. 

Selina. 

Did she know who he was to her? He couldn’t see how, unless Bruce had informed her. There were plenty of times over the years where DNA made or broke a case. Her sample was on file, as was his own. Had there ever been a reason to compare them? 

Tim shoved his way up from the floor, padding on bare feet to the supercomputer. His dress shirt was ruined from the exertion and he fumbled with the buttons before tearing it off. The little bits of plastic scattered across the floor. 

He sat down with a heavy sigh. Knowing his luck, he’d step on each and every one of them at some point, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Bringing up Selina’s file was the work of a moment, her DNA sequence another. Taking a deep breath, Tim brought up his own. 

“Computer, run an STR analysis.” Short tandem repeat sequencing was used on maternity tests, examining twenty different loci in the DNA sequence for matches. 

It didn’t take long for the results to come back. 

Tim let out a slow breath and closed his eyes. 

They matched. 

“Computer, run a mitochondrial DNA analysis.” There would be no cutting corners here. Mitochondrial DNA might be a shorter sequence, but it was inherited from the maternal line only. 

Again, the comparison didn’t take long. It was another match.

There was no mistaking it. Selina Kyle was his biological mother. 

Glancing at the clock, Tim grimaced. It would be hours before he could hit the streets to find Catwoman. He needed a distraction. Thankfully, this was Gotham. There was always a case that needed his attention. 

As he pulled up some files Dick had sent him the night before, he once again locked away his feelings in favor of letting his inner detective come out to play. Sometimes, it paid to be the protégé of Batman.

* * *

Several hours later, Tim stood on the edge of an apartment building looking out over Gotham’s East End. It was the first time he’d been out in uniform for over a week and it felt… odd. Like he was wearing a Red Robin costume instead of a symbol of justice. 

Yet another thing to wrap his head around once his current existential crisis was over. 

Somewhere in this maze of buildings and alleys, he’d find his mother. That was assuming she wasn’t elsewhere keeping her skills sharp. Tim wished he dared to ask Bruce about Selina’s whereabouts, but at the moment, his facility for lying to the Bat, for lying in general, was severely compromised. 

The crunch of gravel on the roof behind him was the only warning he had that he wasn’t alone. He was already moving, extending his bo-staff with a snap of his wrist, when Jason came to a stop a few feet away. For once, he was helmetless, opting for a red domino in the humid, sticky night. 

“Haven’t seen you around lately,” he offered, digging into a jacket pocket for a half-crushed pack of cigarettes. 

Tim relaxed, slightly. “Been busy.” 

“Clearly. Ran into Blondie the other night. She said you were more of a desk jockey these days.”

“Aw, thanks for caring.” Tim wasn’t sure why Jason would even ask anyone in their family about him. Their relationship wasn’t the best, not with the history between them, but it had gotten better. Sort of. 

Jason shrugged as he tapped out a cigarette. Putting the filter between his lips, he put the pack away and pulled out a lighter. “Got a case I think is right up your alley,” he said, cupping the small flame against a sudden updraft from between the buildings. 

“Oh?” Curiosity would forever be the death of him. Jason asking for help, and from him of all people, was a rarity. Despite that, whenever they did work together, they made a great team. 

“Yeah. But it seems to me your attention is on something else tonight.” 

It was easy to forget that his brother, hotheaded to the extreme, was incredibly observant.

“What makes you say that?” Tim wasn’t up for the verbal sparring Jason normally engaged in. Not tonight.

If anything, he wanted someone to confide in. The thought came out of nowhere and he rolled it around, looking at it from all sides before deciding that yes, he did need to talk to someone. He just wasn’t sure if Jason Todd was the best option. 

“Because I found you almost half an hour ago and you haven’t moved a damn muscle. You’re not on a stakeout; you’re lost in your head.” 

Tim took a step away from the ledge and looked at Jason. “You’re right. I am.” 

His brother sucked a deep drag off the cigarette and blew the smoke into the night. “What’s the deal then? Need help with somethin’?” 

“Since when do you offer to play therapist?” Tim retorted without thinking.

“Since you look like someone just died. Do you need a gun? I can put rubber bullets in it for you.” 

Tim cocked an eyebrow. This was a first. “And just what am I supposed to shoot?” 

“Anything. Did B do somethin’ again? We can always take pot-shots at the Batmobile. Or we can do that even if he didn’t. It’s therapeutic.” 

Now he knew where some of the small dents that randomly appeared on the Batmobile came from. Bruce probably did too since Jason was not exactly subtle when he was in one of his moods. 

“Tempting, but no. I need to find Selina.” That part slipped out before Tim could stop it. Or maybe he didn’t want to stop it. The urge to speak with someone about his day from hell grew stronger. Kon was always telling him he needed to stop bottling things up, that he shouldn’t have to resort to tequila to get him to loosen up. 

“What for? She steal the _Redbird_ from you?” Jason flicked some ash into the wind. “That’s about the only thing of yours anyone really wants.” 

More like what Jason wanted from him, but whatever. 

“I just need to find her.” 

“You try callin’? Can’t tell me you don’t have her phone number.”

If there was ever a smack-yourself-in-the-face moment, here it was. 

Tim let out a heavy breath. “I’m an idiot.” 

“You’re welcome.”

* * *

Selina not only answered his call, but she gave him an address too. It wasn’t far from where he’d left Jason laughing his ass off. Seriously, his brothers were dicks. 

Standing on the roof across from the apartment building, Tim mulled his options. There wasn’t exactly a protocol for this. Would it just be rude to waltz in and announce that he was her son? Yeah, definitely. Perhaps some context. Backstory, even. It wasn’t like he made a habit of seeking her out. 

Her window opened and Tim sucked in a breath as Selina leaned out. At least she had clothes on. Come to think of it, he’d see more of her bare skin than any son ever should. She had no qualms about making her sexuality work to her advantage. 

“Cat got your tongue, Red Robin?” she called out. “You’ve been perched there for ten minutes.” 

Dammit. It was now or never. 

Tempting as it was to simply melt back into the night and avoid this altogether, he couldn’t let it go. It would drive him nuts not knowing the full story. 

Tim shot a grapple line and swung over, landing on the windowsill even as Selina took a step back to give him some space. 

“Hey, Selina. Thanks for agreeing to see me on such short notice,” he said, ducking inside and closing the window behind him. 

She shrugged. “I wasn’t planning to go out for a while yet.”

“Anything interesting?” Tim couldn’t help but ask. When it came to Catwoman, it was anyone’s guess what her plans were.

“Just a run to stretch my legs.” Selina winked, then headed to the sofa. The wooden base bore clear signs of claw-marks. “Anything else, you’ll have to wait and see.”

It suddenly occurred to Tim that his mother was the greatest thief in the world. Why was he just now remembering this? Maybe this was where he came by his tendency to overanalyze anything and everything. Selina’s thefts weren’t done on the fly. No, there was a lot of planning that went into them.

“Don’t get caught.”

Selina tossed her head back, laughing as she sat down. “Oh, kitten. The only time I get caught is when I think Bruce hasn’t been paying enough attention to me.”

“Yeah, we know,” Tim replied with a smile of his own. The proclivities of Bruce and Selina were _legendary._

Draping an arm across the back of the sofa, Selina tucked her feet against the arm of the sofa, lounging comfortably. “So what brings you here tonight? I doubt you want me to steal something for you.” 

It was now or never. Tim took a seat in the armchair and pushed back his cowl. “I honestly don’t know how to even start.” 

“The beginning is usually a good place,” she prodded. A cat appeared out of nowhere and jumped up to curl against her thigh. “It’s rare that any of you Bats ever do though.” 

Tim chuckled. “You’re not wrong there. Okay, so I ran into my mom’s old lawyer the other day…” He spoke quickly, keeping the story short and concise. Facts. He liked facts. Apparently, so did Selina. 

As he spoke, he watched her. At first, she was her usual self, relaxed and comfortable in her own skin. But as the story progressed, a frown appeared and the light in her eyes dimmed. She didn’t say anything, but if Tim had to guess, he’d either struck a nerve or she could already see how this was about to end.

Slowly, he drew two pieces of paper from a compartment on his bandoliers and handed them to her. His birth certificates. “These are copies of the originals. Those I have at home.” 

Selina accepted them without a word, her dark nail polish gleaming in the light from the lamp on the end table beside the sofa. Unfolding the papers, she read the first one. It was the one with her name on it. 

She shook her head, quick and tight as tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. “That’s impossible.” 

“I thought so too, but then I ran our DNA. Three times.” Never let it be said he wasn’t thorough. 

“No, it’s just… I was told, _promised_ by that lawyer _,_ that my baby wouldn’t be raised in Gotham. That he’d be far away from this place.” Selina’s green eyes met his. “Tim, I – I don’t know what to say.” 

He unclenched fists he didn’t realize he’d even made. Hocking apparently hadn’t told him everything. Dammit. “I’m not expecting anything. I just… I want to know what happened. Why?” 

Unspoken went the question about his real father. He knew enough about Selina’s background to understand that she probably didn’t know either. 

Selina folded in on herself, not looking directly at him. The words came slowly at first, then sped up. “I don’t know what Bruce has told you, about what his file on me even says, but at one point in my life, I was a prostitute. A Domme. I was too young, but it was the only way I could keep a roof over our heads. My sister knew, even though we never talked about it.” 

Tim nodded slowly. “That’s in the file. I’m sorry.” 

“I’m not surprised. Bruce is annoyingly thorough.” 

“That he is.” 

Selina wiped at her eyes and streaks of mascara smudged her pale skin. “I was always careful. I could afford to be with those clients. But one night, I was at a bar after _work._ I wanted a drink, just needed some time for myself. There was this man sitting at the end, sipping his beer and looking like the world was about to end.” 

Holy moly. Tim bit his tongue to keep from interrupting. She did know who his father was! 

“It was a slow night and I was feeling sorry for myself. And misery loves company, after all.” Selina chuckled wryly, a hand reaching out to scratch behind her cat’s ears. It seemed to calm her as her posture relaxed a bit. “He and I got to talking. He was young, handsome, or would have been if it wasn’t for the black eye and busted lip. Said he didn’t know what to do anymore, that he was trying to help people and no one wanted it. I thought he was some kind of priest or missionary, one of those Jesus loves everyone types.” 

Tim nodded along. He knew what she meant. It was a rare week when someone in the family didn’t have to pull a naive do-gooder’s ass out of the fire. 

“But then it turned out, he most definitely wasn’t.” Selina’s lips quirked up briefly. “I’ll spare you the sordid details. Suffice to say, it wasn’t until after that we realized the condom broke. There was no morning after pill in those days, but I figured I was fine, it was just once, and this guy was clean.” 

Those pesky emotions reared their ugly heads as it hit home just how close he’d come to never being born at all. If not for a defective condom, he would not be sitting here. Tim swallowed hard, wrestling with that damn door to slam it shut. 

“When I realized I was pregnant, I went to the Free Clinic and Dr. Thompkins laid out my options. The thought of an abortion hurt more than I expected. I liked your father, I really did, and back then, I had zero expectation of ever seeing him again.” 

Whoa, did that mean they met again later on? If this was someone else’s life, he’d swear he was watching one of those cheesy soap operas Steph and Cass love to rip apart. 

“So I decided adoption would be the best decision.” Selina’s eyes were distant, losing herself in the memory. “I was in no position to keep and raise a child on my own. I could barely make ends meet as it was and there were plenty of months when I didn’t. Dr. Thompkins put me in contact with an adoption agency she trusted, which just showed how many were out there that she didn’t. It wasn’t long before they found a couple who wanted my child. My only condition was that they didn’t live in Gotham. This was the last place I wanted any child to grow up, and if that was the one thing I could do for my son, then I would consider myself a good parent.”

Selina gave him a pointed look and Tim had the grace to grimace. 

“If it helps, I grew up in Bristol for the most part.”

She snorted. “Not really.” Sighing, his mother stood and started pacing, displacing the cat who glared at her before settling on another cushion where it started licking its paws. “The fees your parents paid covered my rent, food, and medical expenses. For once in my life, I didn’t have to worry about a thing. All I had to do was stay healthy and submit to random urine tests to confirm I wasn’t on any drugs.” 

That part sounded very much like something his parents would have insisted on. Knowing his mom, Tim had a hard time believing there wasn’t a rather intensive background check done on Selina during her pregnancy. Hocking had given him the impression his was a closed adoption though, so how that could have happened, he wasn’t sure. Then again, this was Gotham. Knowing whose palm to grease was a way of life.

“And then my son was born.” 

Tim held his breath. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Selina kept referring to him in the third person instead of _you_. 

“I held him for a short time before he was taken away. His hair was so black and his eyes… what a beautiful shade of blue.” Selina came to a stop in front of his chair. “I see they never changed.” 

In that moment, Tim wished his eyes were green to match hers. “You know, I always wondered why I had black hair when my parents didn’t. Mom was blonde and Dad had brown hair. They both had brown eyes.” It was a clue, a hint he’d ignored for years. “I chalked it up to recessive genes on both sides.” 

“So now you know.” 

“I do. I’m just… I’m sorry, Selina. I didn’t want to hurt you, but I needed...no, _wanted_...to know. To understand.” 

“Considering what you do at night, this doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.” Selina sighed again and turned on her heel, heading to the kitchen without a backward glance. “I need a drink. Want one?”

That sounded like a fantastic idea. “Yeah. Thanks.” 

Glasses clinked in the kitchen while Tim just sat there and processed, which was difficult as that locked door on his emotions kept rattling. He could sure use a good dose of Bruce’s stoicism right about now as all this was a lot to take in. Selina hadn’t had an easy life, he knew that. Nowhere in her file though was there any indication that she’d had a child. _Him._

Looked like Bruce didn’t know everything about his on-again, off-again girlfriend. Tim wasn’t sure he should be the one to enlighten him either. This was Selina’s business, not his. 

Selina returned with two shot glasses and a bottle of bourbon. “I pilfered this from Bruce a few months ago. Time to put it to good use.” 

“I’ll drink to that.” Tim accepted the full glass and held it up. “To life’s surprises.” 

“To my son.” Selina smiled and knocked her glass back in one swallow. 

The dark caramel colored liquid burned only slightly; his cheeks blazed hotter. 

Selina sat back down and poured herself another shot, staring contemplatively at the bottle. “There’s something else I need to tell you, Tim.” 

Here it was. Wordlessly, he held out his glass and his mother leaned over to pour him another.

“I know you well enough to guess that you picked up on something I said earlier.” 

Tim nodded. “You implied you met _him_ again.” No need to say who. 

He waited, letting Selina collect her thoughts. Outwardly, he was calm, collected even. Inside, his heart raced almost as fast as Bart could run. Finding out who his father was, it hadn’t even registered as a possibility when he sought out his mother. 

“It was about three years after we’d first met. I took a risk that night, going to the annual Policeman’s Charity Ball. But picking the pockets of the rich was easy when they thought I was some young debutante. I batted my eyes and made sure my manners were on point. Alfred would have been proud. I was getting ready to leave; had a number of watches in my clutch, and a beautiful bracelet I still have to this day.”

“Really?” 

His mother laughed. “Okay, I sold it, then stole it back a few weeks later, but you get the point.” 

He did. 

“And then I saw him.” Selina swirled the tumbler, watching as the bourbon licked the edge. “The crowd parted and there he was at the other side of the room. A beautiful woman hung on either arm, and he’d just laughed at something one of them said. I knew him instantly. Remembered his touch, his breath, the feel of his body over mine. I asked the society maven I was speaking with who he was.” 

The more she spoke, the fainter Tim felt. It was as though he stood on the tracks and watched, unmoving, as the train came upon him. He knew, even before Selina spoke his name. 

“It was Bruce Wayne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, the next chapter won't have a cliffhanger. Really.


	3. Chapter 3

Tim rested his face against the cool porcelain of Selina’s bathtub. His flushed skin welcomed the cold even as his throat still burned with the bile that threatened to escape once more. Miserable, that’s what he was. Embarrassed. What a great impression he just made on his mother.

Okay, so vomiting in Selina’s bathroom wasn’t the worst thing he could have done. He could have done it all over himself in the living room after downing that second shot and forgetting to breathe. 

_Bruce Wayne_ Selina’s voice echoed in his mind, repeating itself on an endless loop. He’d thought having Catwoman as a mother was life changing enough. But Bruce? 

Fuck. 

Sighing, Tim turned his blurry attention on the toilet and reached out weakly to flush it. This had to be a joke. Maybe Bruce was testing him again, like he had when he turned sixteen and pulled that stunt with seeking out a traitor in their midst. What else did he have to prove, huh? 

When in doubt, fall back on conspiracy theories and paranoia. Mostly paranoia. 

There was a light knock on the door and Selina poked her head in, no doubt summoned by the sound of the flushing toilet. “You okay?” 

“No. But I don’t think I’ll get sick again.” 

The door opened fully, and Tim felt more than saw his mother enter. She knelt in front of him and rested the back of her hand on his sweat-dampened forehead. The gesture was unexpected, but he didn’t pull away.

“Tim, it’s not the end of the world.” 

“You’re not the one who’s just had his entire identity ripped away and stomped on today.” 

“Well, I didn’t expect to meet my son tonight.” 

Opening his eyes fully, Tim met Selina’s clear green gaze. That wasn’t entirely unfair. He’d upended her entire world too. 

“Technically, we met a long time ago.” 

Selina flicked the tip of his nose with a long nail. “But we didn’t know. I don’t think that counts. Not now.”

“True.” Tim made to get up and his mother stepped back to give him space. At the sink, he took a good look at himself in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes aside, the features he thought he knew so well stared back at him, utterly foreign. He didn’t look like Bruce, that much was certain. But with Selina standing behind him, watching, he was able to pick out similarities. Something about their jaws and the shape of their eyes and browline. Subtle things. 

“You don’t look much like Bruce,” Selina said, her mind apparently on the same track as his. “You definitely got my build rather than his.” 

Tim let himself chuckle because yeah, packing on muscle and keeping it had always been a challenge. 

Selina idly ran her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, testing the texture. Her nails caressed the scalp in a mock massage. “You have my hair.” 

“And your predilection for breaking and entering.” 

“Nah.” Selina rested her chin on his shoulder and winked. “I’m pretty sure you get that from your father.”

* * *

After washing up from his impromptu date with the toilet and making liberal use of the mouthwash he found to clear the taste of bile from the back of his throat, Tim rejoined Selina in the living room. This time, he took a seat beside her on the sofa. Just as she had been before, she lounged rather than sat, one arm draped gracefully over the back of the sofa and her free hand stroking a loudly purring cat pressed against her leg. 

“So, what now?” she asked, turning those vivid green eyes on him. “I know you’ll confront Bruce sooner or later, but…” Sighing, Selina smiled weakly. “I guess I want to know where you and I stand.” 

That was a very valid question and one Tim had spent the better part of the afternoon and evening pondering before he even put on his uniform. His parents hadn’t been the greatest, he knew that. Always traveling, putting work before him. In an odd way, it made sense now. He was adopted to be their heir first and son second. Meeting Selina’s gaze, he knew what he wanted. 

“Nothing has to change if you don’t want it to,” he spoke slowly, trying hard not to clench his hands. “But I’d really like the chance to get to know you better. As more than Bruce’s on-again, off-again girlfriend and as Catwoman. I want to know who Selina Kyle is.” 

Selina uncurled, displacing the cat, and scooted across the cushions until she knelt beside him. “I would like that very much, Tim.” 

She leaned forward to wrap him in a warm embrace, his face pressed against his mother’s shoulder even as he returned the gesture. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he found himself torn between wanting to laugh or sob. It had been far too long since he’d simply been held like this. 

Sighing, he asked a question that had been bothering him since he made friends with the toilet. “Does Bruce know? That you were even pregnant, I mean?” 

“I don’t know.” Selina shifted slightly but didn’t let Tim go. He had a feeling it would be awhile and that was fine with him. It was nice to be held. “I never said a word about it. Brucie Wayne was so far from the man I’d slept with that it was almost like they were two completely different people. He definitely wasn’t father material, assuming he even remembered me. I know better now, of course, but back then…” 

Tim smirked, agreeing with her. Brucie Wayne was a lot to handle. “Look at him now. Five kids, four adopted. Steph is around often enough she might as well be kid number six.” 

“He certainly found himself a family. Even if all of you are just as touched in the head as he is about justice.” 

“It’s probably the tight pants,” Tim quipped. “Constricts the blood flow, especially with some people.” He pointedly thought of Dick and his form-fitting suit. How he even managed to put it on was a question for the ages. 

“Why else do I try to get Bruce out of his so often?” Sharp nails started running through his hair again. “Tim, you have to know this wasn’t the life I wanted for you. I did what I could to give you the best start, but…well, the apple clearly hasn’t fallen far from the tree.” 

“You didn’t exactly have many options,” he replied, carefully as the last thing he wanted was to upset her. “Maybe if I had been raised away from Gotham, things would have been different.”

He’d have never been to Haly’s circus for one. That night, more than any other, set him on his path. 

“I should have been more specific.” Selina’s tone was laced with bitterness. “Gotham Heights, my ass. The other side of the river is _still_ Gotham.” 

Tim adjusted himself into a more comfortable position but didn’t give up Selina’s shoulder as a headrest. If he was being honest with himself, he hadn’t felt this _wanted_ in years. 

“I think I turned out all right,” he replied, tossing a cheeky grin up at his mother. 

She hugged him tighter, smiling. “Yeah, you did.” 

Tempting as it was to keep to the lighter topics, there was another question weighing on Tim’s mind. “What are we going to tell Bruce?” 

Selina buried her face into his hair. “I wish I could say whatever you want, but honestly, I refuse to be silent about the fact you’re my son. I lost you once. I won’t ever do it again. If Bruce doesn’t want to acknowledge you, then that’s his choice. But I do.” 

Warmth and pride surged through Tim and he hugged his mother harder. “Do you want to be there when I speak to him?” 

His mother was silent for a time, thinking the question over. “I don’t think so, at least not the first time. You’re already his son because a piece of paper says so. A piece of paper both you signed together. Talk to him like you would your dad. Because he technically is and needs to be reminded of it.” 

That was actually pretty solid advice. 

“Thanks, Mom.” The word felt foreign in his mouth. It had been far too long since he’d said it to anyone. 

“Anytime, son.” Selina made a face and Tim laughed at how disgruntled she looked. Like a cat who’d had its fur rubbed the wrong way. “That just sounded weird.” 

“Yeah, it did,” he agreed. “How about you stick with Tim?” 

Selina nuzzled the side of his face. “I’ll do that. But you’re still calling me Mom, got it?”

“Deal.”

* * *

Tim stayed with his mother until late and utterly paid for it the next day at the office. Why he had to work Saturdays when nobody else did was patently unfair but was seriously the only time anything important ever got done. Coffee only did so much. By the time he dragged himself home, he was ready for a nap and fell face-first into his overstuffed sofa, not even bothering to remove his shoes. 

The nap did wonders and when Tim awoke a couple hours later, he felt ready to head downstairs and face the music. It was time to run the other half of his DNA, just to be absolutely certain. He had no doubt about Selina’s memory, but his analytical mind wouldn’t rest until he saw the proof in front of him.

Downstairs, he took a deep breath as he brought up Bruce’s DNA profile and along with his. “Computer, run a Y-STR analysis on the two samples.” 

The test was similar to what he’d run last night but traced the Y chromosome instead as that passed directly from father to son. 

Tim let out a slow breath when the results came back confirming what Selina had told him. Leaning back in his chair, he ran a hand through his hair and clasped the ends, pulling hard. The tug stung at his scalp, but it was all that was keeping him grounded as his world utterly shattered around him. 

There it was, clear as day. Bruce was his father. Selina was his mother. Batman and Catwoman had a son. _Him._

How had he never clued in on this before? There were plenty of times where he’d had to run DNA samples and exclude those of his family as possible matches… Oh. 

“I’m an idiot,” he muttered. 

Of course, the computer wouldn’t come back with a match for him and Bruce. It hadn’t been _told_ to look for their match. Just to exclude them from the search parameters. Duh. 

Somehow, this knowledge made it that much worse. 

His world was crumbling around him. Everything he thought he knew about himself was a complete and utter lie. He needed an escape, someplace far away from Gotham and all her dirty little secrets. It crossed his mind that perhaps a vacation was in order. Take some time to get his head back on straight. Maybe invite Kon because his best friend always knew the best beaches and where the waves were perfect for surfing. 

The ringing of his phone snapped him back to the present. Glancing at the screen, he recognized Jason’s current number. He changed it regularly, out of paranoia or to annoy Bruce, Tim wasn’t entirely sure. 

“What is it?” he answered, sounding and feeling utterly exhausted. 

“Well, hello to you too,” Jason replied. “You finish your business with Selina? I still need your opinion with that case of mine.” 

It was on the tip of Tim’s tongue to say no, that tonight wasn’t a good night and tomorrow wasn’t looking much better. But Jason didn’t ask for help often, so instead he sighed heavily and nodded. 

Then he realized Jason couldn’t see him because hello, _phone._

“Yeah, sure. You want to send me the details?” 

“I was thinkin’ a meet up would be better. You in Crime Alley tonight?” 

Tim rolled his eyes. “Where else would I be? The theater is my home.” 

“I dunno, you’re rich and have Wayne tacked on to your last name like some pretentious douche. For all I know, you could be in Tokyo right now.” 

“Pretty sure I’d be asleep if that were the case.” 

“Whatever. Keep your ass planted where it’s at and don’t pass out on me. Want pizza?” 

Junk food? Hell yes. Although cheesesteak fajitas were his preferred go-to in times of extreme stress. Luckily, the best place to get them was on the other side of the city. No way would Jason go that far out of his way for food. Chilidogs, however… 

“Sure. Get some wings too. Honey mustard, preferably.” In for a penny, in for a pound.

Jason snorted. “Anything else, Your Highness?” 

“You’re lucky I’m not asking for caffeine.”

* * *

“You look like shit,” Jason pronounced an hour later, his hands full with two large pizza boxes and a few bags that he carefully juggled as he entered through the front door Tim held open for him. 

Tim closed the door behind him and locked it. “Good, I feel like it.” 

Eyes narrowing, his brother gave him a closer look. “Sick? You’re flushed.” 

Tim pressed a hand to his face and frowned. He didn’t feel sick, but the last day and a half had been hell on his stress levels. “Must be the weather.” 

Jason didn’t look convinced. “You saw Selina last night, right? Allergic to her cats?” 

“No.” 

“I see you’re just as talkative as ever. If you don’t want to help me, coulda just said so.” 

Tim shook his head. “Sorry, I’ve got a ton on my mind right now. Everything is just a mess.” 

Humming in commiseration, Jason made his way to the kitchen, Tim trailing after him like a little duckling. 

There was a suspicious _clink_ from one of the bags when Jason dropped them on the counter. Sure enough, when he peeled the bag away, it was a bottle of whiskey. 

“Want some? There’s a bottle of Coke in one of these if you prefer.” 

Whiskey and coke? Huh, he’d never tried that. “Why not? Unless we’re going for a run later?” 

“Nah. Well, I might, but I doubt you are. Unless you’re looking for trouble?” 

Yesterday, Tim would have relished the chance for a good fight. Tonight, all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and pass the heck out. “With enough whiskey, maybe you can convince me shooting the Batmobile is a good idea.” 

Jason grinned, sharp and vicious. “I’d pay good money to see Bruce’s face when he finds out you did it.” 

Scoffing, Tim drew the case folder out from between the pizza boxes. “You’d probably hand over the gun I used.” 

“And waste a good .45? Are you out of your mind?” 

“There’s an argument that can be made I’m never in it.” Tim wandered into the living room with the file, leaving Jason to putter around in the kitchen and make smart comments about the contents of his fridge. 

Curling up in his armchair, he was abruptly reminded of why he preferred digital files whenever possible. The folder was full of sticky notes and what he was pretty sure was a bloodstain on one of the pages. 

Lovely. Just lovely. Time to bust out the antibacterial wipes. 

As he started to read, something quickly became clear. 

“You're working the same gun ring that Dick is,” Tim said after he finished deciphering Jason's bold scrawl. “I recognize some of the names.” 

“Dammit,” Jason cursed as he entered the living room with a pizza box. The lid was being used as a makeshift tray for the drinks he’d mixed. “Suppose that means you're gonna suggest we work together.” 

Tim shrugged. It wasn't his business whether his brothers did or not. Not at the moment at least. He had bigger problems. “That's up to you. If you phrase it right, he'll let you blow up the shipment.” 

“Dickie doesn't like the big booms the way you do, Timmers.” 

“We can't all be perfect.” 

“No, but he sure tries.” Jason set everything down on the coffee table and took a seat on the sofa. “So now that you've created a bigger problem for me, how about I help with yours?” 

“What problem?” Tim asked, stiffening under Jason's gaze. Damn, but his normal defenses were utterly down right now. He'd need to shore them up if he wanted to talk to Bruce soon. Everyone in this family was an expert at exposing weakness. 

“I thought you were on edge last night and unless my eyes deceive me, you're even worse tonight. What is it?” 

Talking had seemed like a good idea last night but now Tim wasn't so sure. Jason wasn’t exactly known for having a soft touch. His approach to solving problems was more direct. 

Then again… “It's complicated.” 

“Complicated is for Facebook.” Jason leaned forward. “C’mon. Tell big brother Jay what's got you all hot and bothered. Is it a girl? Guy? Alien clone?” 

Why did everyone think he was sleeping with Kon? 

On impulse, Tim abruptly closed the folder. Jason wanted to get a rise out of him, fine. 

“I just found out yesterday that I'm Selina and Bruce’s biological son.” 

Jason did exactly what he expected and laughed right in his face. “Yeah right. Tell me another.” 

“This is why I don't tell anyone a damned thing. No one ever believes me.” 

“That's because you're a world class liar, Timmy. Is this a cry for attention?” 

“Fuck. You.” Tim resisted the strong urge to hurl the contents of his mostly full glass into Jason's face. 

“Wait.” Jason snagged his wrist. “Are you for real? About Bruce and Selina?” he asked earnestly, grip tightening like he knew how close Tim was to bolting even in the safety of his own home. 

“Why would I lie about something like this? If I wanted attention, I'd get a puppy.” Tim tugged at his wrist and contemplated a nervestrike to force Jason to release his hold. 

“Holy. Fucking. Shit.” Jason let go, eyes wider than saucers. “Was this why you were trying to find Selina last night?” 

As quick as it arrived, all the fight drained from Tim, leaving him more exhausted than he was before. “Yeah.” 

“Well fuck.” Jason, normally never at a loss for words, appears utterly speechless. “How? When? Wait, don't answer that. I have far too many memories of Selina and B fucking against whatever surface was available.” 

Tim moaned into his beer. “Thank you so damned much for reminding me about that. Really.” 

Thank god he’d never seen that happen, not directly at least. No child ever wanted to even admit their parents had sex. 

Jason held up his glass in a mock salute. “A Robin’s right of passage.” 

“Brain bleach. Now.” 

“Okay, seriously. All jokes aside, Timbo… What the fuck? I thought you were a Drake? I’ve seen the pictures. One big happy family.” Jason’s sarcasm cut hard, tearing apart the few idyllic memories Tim had with his parents. There weren’t many, but those pictures had seen him through some tough times.

And now, they were all a lie. 

“I was adopted,” Tim muttered, avoiding Jason's intense gaze. 

“Shit.” His brother pulled out his phone and swiped the screen. 

Alarmed, Tim sat upright. “What are you doing?” 

“Calling reinforcements. I'm not the big brother you need for this kind of mind-fuck.” 

* * *

Dick arrived barely twenty minutes later, still partly in uniform if the tight-fitting pants and boots were anything to go by. For some reason, he’d ditched the top half, along with his gloves and mask, in favor of a thin orange t-shirt. 

Just looking at him hurt Tim's eyes. Only Dick would wear day-glo orange at night. 

Jason just rolled with it and handed over a third glass of his more-whiskey-than-coke concoction. “And you guys tell me I'm not careful with my identity.” 

“You're not,” Dick stated, taking a seat beside Jason and accepting the glass with a wary look. He’d apparently been on the receiving end of these mixes before. “At least the lower half is all black. It gets mistaken for yoga gear all the time.” 

Tim snorted, riding the buzz from his first glass and halfway into the second. “I've never seen yoga shoes look like that.” 

“Hey, come on. Jason said it was urgent, so this is what you get. At least I'm not wearing shorts with these boots.” 

Jason snickered because yes, their oldest brother totally would. 

“So what's going on? Nobody looks like they're dying.” 

“Timmers has mentally checked out for the night.” 

“Why?” Dick shot Tim a look of concern. 

A trip to the bathroom suddenly sounded _fantastic_. Lurching to his feet, Tim decided to do just that. “Gotta hit the can,” he announced and all but ran for the hallway bathroom. 

Closing the door behind him, he leaned heavily against it and drew a deep breath. Why did he agree to this? Okay, Jason wasn’t the best person to confide in, but Dick was. And he was here now, so where was this cowardice coming from? 

The simple answer was nerves. The more complex explanation was that he didn't want Dick of all people to judge him for his newly discovered parentage. 

From the loud shout that erupted in the living room, it sounded like Jason had spilled the beans for him. 

Fantastic. There was no avoiding anything now. 

Tim relieved himself and washed up, staring blearily at his reflection in the mirror. Didn’t he just do this last night? The bloodshot eyes were the same, as were the dark smudges beneath them. If he’d been thinking straight, he’d have used some concealer before Jason even arrived. No wonder he’d asked if he was all right. He sure didn’t look it. 

A quiet knock on the door tore Tim from his contemplation. 

“Tim?” Dick asked. “You okay in there, bud?” 

Nope. Far from it. Instead, he opened the door, meeting his brother’s concerned gaze. “Last night, I spent some quality time with a toilet,” he offered. 

“If I were in your shoes, I probably would have too.” Dick reached out and tugged Tim into a rough hug. “Oh, Tim. What a mess.” 

This. _This_ was what he’d been needing. Tim pressed his face into Dick’s shoulder. “Life has been too quiet recently. I should have known a shitstorm was brewing.” 

“You sound like Jason.” 

“I’m allowed to be a pessimist.” 

“Fair.” Dick ran a hand through the hair on the back of Tim’s head. “Come on. There’s pizza to eat and whiskey with a side of coke to be drunk.” 

“I should never have let Jason mix the drinks.” 

“Heh, now you know.” 

In the living room, Jason had brought out the second pizza box and was helping himself. “Thought it would be easier if I broke the ice for you, Timmers.” 

It was, actually. “Thanks,” he said, returning to the armchair while Dick resumed his spot beside Jason. 

Dick took a thoughtful drink from his glass and frowned, whether it was at the amount of whiskey or at Jason, Tim couldn’t be sure. “To be perfectly honest, I kinda suspected something along these lines for a while now.” 

Tim blinked. Where the hell was this coming from? “That Bruce and Selina are my real parents?” 

“No, not quite,” Dick chuckled. “But that you weren't a Drake. Let's face it, you look nothing like Jack or Janet. _Nothing_.” 

“Why didn't you run a paternity test then?” The accusation slipped out, but Tim didn't back down. “There were plenty of opportunities over the years.” 

“Who would I have run it against? All it would have confirmed is that you weren’t Jack and Janet’s son,” Dick replied. “Besides, none of this really matters. Whoever your parents are, you're still you. My slightly neurotic and perpetually sleep deprived little brother who also happens to be one of the greatest detectives in the world.” 

“Aren't too bad with that stick of yours either,” Jason chimed in. “Dickie’s right. In this family, blood means nothing.” 

“Oh, so you're part of the family now, Jay?” Dick teased lightly because one never knew what Jason would blow up at. “Is it that time of the month?” 

“Fuck you, birdbrain. Just for that, you get to haul your fat ass to the store for more booze. Tim’s got shit to drink around here and if tonight’s not a night to get pissed drunk, then I don’t know what is.” 

As his brothers bickered, Tim relaxed. Whether they were doing it on purpose or not, it didn't matter. For the first time since Hocking dropped his bombshell, he could just _be_. It was rather nice to do it around other people for a change. 

Over the next hour, more of Jason’s mostly whiskey and some coke drinks were consumed, and Dick did end up going out to the store. He even brought back a bag of large marshmallows, to Jason’s confusion and Tim’s delight, although he was forced to eat his chicken wings before he was allowed to open the bag. 

Slowly, the details of his early existence were revealed. To be fair, it was mostly Selina's story, but she'd said he could share it when and if he needed to. 

“I still can't believe Selina is your _mom_ ,” Jason commented once Tim finished. “What's that term again? MILF?” 

Tim's eyes widened in horror. “That's my mom you're talking about!” 

Jason shrugged, utterly unrepentant. “I'm not the only one to think it, Timbo.” 

Dick slowly nodded in agreement. “Not gonna lie, she was around a lot during my, uh, _formative_ years.” 

“Ugh, I hate you both.” 

“How were we supposed to know?” Jason protested. 

“Yeah, this was a long time ago.” 

“Speak for yourself, I was thinkin’ about her last week.” 

This time, Tim did toss the rest of his whiskey coke in Jason’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? No cliffhanger!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note on canon: Most of my regular readers know I pretend New 52 onward doesn't exist for Tim, but since I seem to have a new audience here, I thought it was worth repeating since I refer to a crossover event that ran between all the Batman related comics in the early 90s. How early? Dick still has his rat-tail and we haven't been gifted with fingerstripes yet.

Stumbling down the stairs with a hangover was not the brightest thing Tim had ever done. If he were being honest, he was still amazed he’d made it to his bedroom in the first place last night. Odds were likely he had Dick to thank for that; while Jason got just as drunk as he did, their older brother stayed mostly sober. 

Head pounding and mouth feeling like death, Tim paused and took a breather at the base of the stairs. From his vantage point, Jason’s feet were visible over the arm of the sofa, one socked and the other bare. 

There was a vague memory of poker last night, but Tim was pretty sure clothing hadn’t been involved. Strip poker had been a game he’d only played once before and he’d cheated outrageously to ensure he didn’t lose his underwear. 

This little mystery wasn’t in need of an urgent answer, so he shrugged it aside and ventured forth across the living room to the kitchen. Headache medication was in the pocket of his sleep pants. The very thought of taking the pills with a glass of water made his already queasy stomach churn in agitation. So did coffee. 

In the kitchen, Dick was quietly poking around. Why was he still here? 

Tim leaned against the arched entrance and cleared his throat. Okay, that was a bad idea as the sound and vibration stabbed right into his brain. 

Dick looked up from the fridge and grinned. “Morning,” he said quietly. He still wore the lower half of his uniform, but somewhere along the way, he’d lost the shirt. Huh. 

“Morning,” Tim rasped in return. “Gatorade?” 

There should be some in the fridge, as well as some of the powdered stuff in the cabinet for emergencies. 

His brother reached into the fridge and grabbed a bottle, then brought it to him. “Need anything else? I was thinking about making some toast and scrambled eggs since you don’t have any cereal. Found plenty of coffee.” 

Tim ignored the subtle dig and pressed the cold bottle against his forehead, the chill feeling like utter heaven against his heated skin. “Toast,” he decided. If that stayed down, then he’d have a banana. “Don’t destroy my kitchen.” 

“Hey, who do you think taught you how to make scrambled eggs? It sure wasn’t Bruce.” 

Too true. Hell had to freeze over and pigs fly before Bruce was allowed in the kitchen for anything besides coffee. 

Taking a seat on one of the stools that lined the granite countertop, Tim watched Dick make breakfast while taking slow sips from his sports drink. It cut through the sludge in his throat and left a sweet aftertaste in its wake. 

Dick placed a small plate with some plain toast in front of him. “You have far too much healthy food in this place,” he commented, casting a glance at Tim’s fruit bowl. 

“You try living in this city without a spleen,” Tim retorted. “I need all the help I can get.” 

“True enough. You need your antibiotic?” 

“I don’t take them every day.” The thought of swallowing one of those horse pills with the condition of his stomach nauseated him even more. 

“You would know best.” Dick returned to the stove and his eggs. The coffee machine burbled quietly. 

Tim picked at his toast and managed to eat about half before he decided he’d had enough to take his headache medicine. The pills went down smoothly and once again, he blessed modern medicine and the invention of the gel tablet. If only his antibiotics were the same. 

Sipping his drink, he crinkled his nose at the smell of cooked eggs. 

Dick chuckled as he set his plate on the counter opposite of Tim. “So,” he started, leaning against the granite with a coffee mug. “Do you want to talk about the elephant in the room?” 

“He’s still snoring in the living room,” Tim replied, purposefully misunderstanding the question. 

“Not that one.” 

Trust Dick to want to talk while his defenses were down. Then again, they really hadn’t spoken much about it last night aside from the initial story. His older brothers were determined to distract him and did a damn good job of it if his hangover was an accurate measurement. Tim could already hear Cassie laughing at him. 

“I need to talk to Bruce. I know I do, I just… I’m not sure how to go about it. He has to know, Dick. He _has to.”_

Dick nodded. “The odds of him not knowing are pretty damn low.”

No kidding. “What would you do if you were in my shoes?” 

Sighing, his brother took a thoughtful sip of coffee, thinking. “This is so far outside my realm of experience, so I’m not sure. The closest that I can remember is when I found out Bruce adopted Jason.” He glanced down, frowning. “I didn’t handle that well.” 

“But that was tied up with Jason becoming Robin, wasn’t it?” Tim asked, trying to dreg up the memory of that file because of course Bruce had made notes about it in his typical clinically detached manner. 

“It was.” Dick poked at his eggs and took a bite. “Robin is so much more than just Batman’s sidekick. It was a part of me, of what remained of my legacy from the circus and my parents. Robin was not something Bruce could just give away.” 

There was old anger in Dick’s voice, clear as day to one who knew him well. 

“Seems to me like you’re still upset about that,” Tim stated. 

“I’m more mad at myself,” Dick admitted. “Even to this day. Jason didn’t deserve my anger. He needed a brother and I was not there for him.” Shrugging, he shoveled another spoonful of eggs into his mouth and chewed. “But this isn’t about me. It’s about you. And honestly, you already know the answer to your question.” 

Tim sighed because Dick was right. There was only one way to handle anything when it came to Bruce and that was directly. “I doubt he’s up this early on a Sunday.” 

“Probably not. It really is too soon to be awake.” 

“Then why are you?”

“You apparently didn’t hear Jason’s snoring earlier. It could wake the dead.” 

“Do you think he snored himself back to life?” 

“Tim!”

* * *

Tim waited until after his brothers left to call Bruce. 

With the way he held his phone, you’d think he was handling a live cobra. This…This was nothing like when he had sought out Selina. She’d been on the periphery since the moment he put on a mask, but Bruce? 

Bruce was everything. A mentor, a father-figure, a hero. He’d risked it all for this man and somehow scraped through with his life, if not his body, intact. Through it all, his belief in Batman never wavered, even if his relationship with Bruce faltered. 

Were they close? That was a good question. If anything, he’d have said things were complicated. 

“Suck it up, Drake,” Tim muttered, swiping at the screen and pressing a speed dial. “You can do this.” 

If that was the case, then why did it feel like he was jumping from the highest spire on Wayne Tower for the first time all over again? 

Bruce answered on the third ring. “Tim.” 

“Hey, Bruce,” he forced out, voice cracking at the end. 

What the hell? He sounded like he was thirteen. Hearing Bruce’s voice threw him off-kilter. Tim had thought the adrenaline was pumping before, but now? He felt like he was still Robin and train-surfing with Dick for the first time, sheer terror mixed with exhilaration and determination. 

“Are you all right? Dick mentioned earlier that you were under the weather.” 

Tim silently blessed his brother for the excuse. A hangover with the headache of doom totally counted. 

“I’m already over the worst of it.” He drew a deep breath. It was now or never. “There’s something I need to discuss with you though. In person. Are you available this evening?” 

“I wasn’t planning to leave for patrol until after ten. Will you come for dinner? I can let Alfred know to set another plate.” 

The very thought of sitting through dinner with Bruce while biting his tongue had Tim wishing the ground would swallow him whole. “Thank you, but no. I have dinner plans already,” he lied through his teeth. “I can be there by eight.” 

“Is this about a case?” Bruce asked, querying. 

Tim bit his lip. “Sort of,” he hedged. “I’d prefer to speak upstairs.” 

That was the accepted cue used by everyone that they wanted to discuss family matters. Or as was more often in his case, WE matters. 

“I’ll see you at eight then in my study.” 

“Sounds good.”

“Tim?” Bruce asked just as he was about to hang up. 

“Yeah?” 

“Take a nap. You sound like you gargled glass.” 

“Gee, thanks.”

* * *

Pulling to a stop in the massive garage of Wayne Manor, Tim set his car in park and carefully peeled his white-knuckled hands from the steering wheel. The drive wasn’t long, but it felt like an eternity. Nervous energy coursed through him, not entirely unlike the first time he knocked on Dick’s door in New York or met Batman face-to-face. 

_Batman needs a Robin_ he’d said back then. 

But did Bruce need another son? 

Tim leaned back in the seat and drew a deep breath. “Time to grow a pair,” he murmured. 

The garage was silent, as was the kitchen when he finally managed enough nerve to open the door. It was blissfully empty, with Alfred probably settling in for the night. He’d turned eighty earlier in the year and one of the small concessions the man had made to his advancing age was taking more time off for himself. 

Making his way through the manor halls, Tim’s steps dragged the closer he came to the study. Why was he feeling this way? He wanted answers, right? No one else could give those to him.

Only Bruce. 

Tim paused several feet from the study door. It was almost like he didn’t want to know, which… Which was odd because if there was one thing he could now say for certain he’d inherited from Bruce, it was his nearly obsessive compulsion to solve for that unknown factor. The last clue, the one thing that completed the entire puzzle and solved the case. 

Because his adoption _was_ a mystery, that much he was certain of. He had so many questions and the man behind those doors was the only person who could give him the answers. 

Steeling himself, he strode forward and knocked briskly on the door, announcing himself. 

“Hello, Tim,” Bruce greeted him from behind the antique oak desk. Off to the side was the old grandfather clock that concealed what was now the emergency entrance down to the cave. 

“Hi, Bruce,” Tim replied, closing the door behind him and making his way across the room. “How have things been lately?” 

“Well enough.” Bruce cast an assessing eye his way. “You sound much better than you did before.” 

“I took that nap.” He took a seat in front of the desk, trying for an ease he didn’t feel. “And had pho for dinner.” 

Not entirely a lie. The nap never happened, but the pho did. Did wonders for his stomach too. 

“Good. You need to take care of yourself more.”

“Last time I checked, I’m an adult. I even pay my own taxes.” 

Bruce chuckled and rose to his feet. “You certainly do. Would you like a drink?” 

“Sure.” Tim never passed up a chance to drink Bruce’s scotch. They’d started the tradition not long after his theater apartment renovations were complete, whenever he would return home for upstairs conversations with his father. 

Father. 

It suddenly hit home just how long Bruce had really been his father. This had to be why the need for answers wasn’t hitting with its usual urgency. Because, deep down, he already _knew_ , the same way Dick and even Jason did. 

Blood didn’t matter. 

Well, fuck. 

Bruce returned with a cut crystal tumbler in each hand. “Are you all right? You’re a little pale.” 

Accepting one, Tim shook his head. “I just realized something and now I’m feeling like an idiot.” 

“It happens to all of us.” Bruce sat back down and swirled his glass idly before taking a sip. “Does it have something to do with what you want to discuss tonight?” 

Civilities over, he was all business. Relaxed but attentive, and ready to swing into action at a moment’s notice. Was it any wonder most of the hero community believed he was a machine? Only a handful of people outside the family had ever been allowed to see beneath the façade. 

“Yeah, it does actually.” Tim took a bracing sip and set the tumbler down on the desk. It was time. “I’ve been struggling with how to even have this conversation with you. But…” he sighed and met Bruce’s level gaze. Heart pounding, he continued. “I know I’m your son. Your blood son.” 

There. He’d said it. 

Bruce didn’t flinch. But Tim, so well-versed in reading the man, picked up on the tightening around his eyes and the sterner line of his mouth. He’d struck a nerve. 

“How?” 

“How did I find out?” 

“Yes.”

“I ran into my mom’s old lawyer the other day. He’s retiring and had some old files of hers he thought might be of interest to me. Needless to say, one of them caught my attention immediately.” 

“And that was?” Bruce asked, voice as close to sounding strained as it ever got. 

“My adoption records by the Drakes, as well as a copy of my original birth certificate.” 

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. Bruce stilled in a way that only someone who knew how to become one with the night could. 

“Who is your mother?” 

Wait, what? 

Tim narrowed his eyes. “You mean you don’t know?” 

Bruce clenched his glass, knuckles nearly as white as his had been on the steering wheel earlier. “I thought I did. But why would Janet adopt her own son?” 

The hell? Tim stood abruptly, nearly knocking his chair to the floor. “Are you saying you had an affair with my mom?” 

“In my defense, I didn’t know she was married at the time.” 

“Oh my fucking god.” Tim reached for his tumbler and knocked back the rest of the scotch in one swift swallow. This little tidbit punched harder than Killer Croc, blindsiding him. 

“Tim. You have to understand. That was a difficult time for me. Everything I did to help this city was failing. I – I sought comfort where I could find it.” 

“Then it never occurred to you that I could be Selina’s son instead, did it?” 

Bruce’s jaw dropped just enough for Tim relish his victory. This meeting wasn’t going anything like he’d expected it to. 

“You’re – Selina is your mother?” 

From his pocket, Tim withdrew a printout of his DNA analysis and the copy of his original birth certificate. “I was adopted by the Drakes the day I was born. Mom’s old lawyer told me she didn’t have the time or interest in being pregnant, so they went through an adoption agency. It was all very quiet and I’m pretty sure some palms were greased to make sure Mom got what she wanted. The perfect little heir.” 

Bruce’s hand trembled faintly as he accepted the documents. “Mine and Selina’s _son._ I never imagined…” 

“You do remember her, right?” Tim asked, feeling rather protective of his birth mother. 

“Of course I do. The condom broke, but she said it was fine, that she was on the pill.” 

Selina hadn’t told him that, but thinking on it, he could see why she said that to Bruce. 

“She was barely able to afford condoms, let alone a prescription with her non-existent health insurance.” 

“I know that now.” Bruce shook his head and laid the papers flat on the desk, a large hand smoothing over the creases. “Hindsight is always 20/20.” 

“No kidding.” Tim returned to his chair and let out a slow breath. “When did you figure it out?” he asked, changing the topic back to what he wanted most to learn. With Bruce this off balance, it was likelier he’d receive the unfiltered truth rather than some variation of it. 

This time, Bruce stood and walked away, coming to a stop by the window with his crystal tumbler in hand. At this time of year, the evening shadows were long as the sun made its way westward. 

“Do you remember when you had the Clench?” he asked eventually. 

“Yeah. Kinda hard to forget.” The biological terror almost killed him. 

“Then you remember the issues you had with your kidneys there for a while?” 

Tim nodded, knowing Bruce could see his reflection. “You and Alfred were concerned about renal failure.” 

It was a common side-effect from the antidote as the virus was purged from the bodies of the victims. Dialysis saw him through the worst of it, but there were many others in the city who’d needed kidney transplants in order to survive. 

“I ran our blood samples to see if we were a possible match, should you have needed a new kidney. Part of that involved a DNA test. The results were…not what I expected.” 

There it was. He’d been almost fourteen when he caught the virus. Ten years. Bruce had known he was his father for _ten years._

Tim shoved away from the desk a second time, anger simmering beneath the surface. “A decade, Bruce. You’ve known you were my father for ten _damned_ years. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

Bruce turned and leveled his inscrutable gaze at him. His walls were back up, which made Tim all the more determined to break through them again. “What right did I have to change your life like that? Jack was still in his wheelchair and needed you. You were _his_ son, not mine. After he died, I thought about speaking up, but decided against it. Your relationship with him had improved so much. You needed to mourn him.” 

“And after?” Tim asked, voice tight. 

The man he’d admired and respected for so long suddenly looked his age as his defenses lowered, tired and worn down by the constant stress on his body and his mind. 

“Then Damian arrived, and the time never seemed to be right.” 

Damian. Throughout all of this, the not-so-little brat never once crossed his mind. He and the teen still had a rough relationship, although he would be willing to admit things had gotten better as the years passed. This would torpedo all of that right out of the water. 

The writing on the wall was clear as day. 

“Don’t you think it’s past time to come clean about me?” Tim asked, pleading. “Or are you afraid of what this will do to Damian and his tender little ego when he finds out?” 

Bruce hesitated a moment too long before he opened his mouth to speak. “Yes.” 

Tim was already turning away, hot tears stinging at his eyes. “Fucking hell, Bruce. It’s not like I came here expecting the world, but I thought you’d at least acknowledge me, even if it was just within the family.” 

It was always about Damian. For once in his life, he’d like to come first. 

“Tim,” Bruce tried, but Tim cut him off. 

“Forget it, Bruce. Just forget it.” Coming here had been a mistake. 

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder before he could open the study door. “Tim, listen to me. You are my son. You are my son the same way Dick and Jason are. Blood doesn’t change that.” 

“If blood doesn’t matter, then why didn’t you include Damian on that little list?” 

“Because to him, blood is all that matters. You were raised to see beyond that, to be more than your bloodline says you can be. I taught Dick and Jason the same lesson. Damian is… still a work in progress.” 

Tim arched a brow and glared over his shoulder. The heat from his anger froze over and a familiar calm came over him. For the longest time, he’d thought this icy coldness was a trait he’d inherited from his mom. But in this moment, he realized it came from the man standing behind him. Observing Janet Drake only honed it to a razor-sharp edge. 

No wonder Kon called him an ice dragon when he was truly and utterly pissed off. 

“He’ll be seventeen this year. Clearly, whatever lesson you’re teaching him is sticking well.” 

“Tim, please. Don’t take this out on Damian.” 

“Then stop making it all about him!” 

A knock on the door distracted them long enough to allow Tim to draw away. Figuring it was Alfred, he took his chance and opened it wide, hoping to slip past the old butler and get the hell out of here. That vacation sounded better and better the longer he stayed. 

To his surprise, Damian blocked his way. Great. Just great. 

“Timothy.” 

“Damian,” Tim replied, his displeasure still simmering beneath the surface. “I was just leaving.” 

“No, you weren’t. Sit down.” Damian had hit a growth spurt recently and used his newfound height to maneuver Tim away from the door. 

At least one of them had managed to inherit some physical characteristics from Bruce. 

“I don’t have to listen to you,” Tim retorted. Leaving this place, this _nightmare_ … Ugh, he was tempted to call for Kon despite the property damage it would cause. He just wanted to be gone from here. 

“I have something to say that I think will be of interest to you.” Damian's gaze drifted over his head to Bruce. “To both of you.” 

“I thought you were getting ready for patrol?” Bruce asked, stepping aside to let his _son_ enter. 

It was then that Tim noticed Damian was in uniform. 

“You know the rules,” he said, feeling petty. 

“I do, but Pennyworth isn’t here to enforce them.” Damian closed the door behind him. “Father, the curtains.” 

Wordlessly, Bruce crossed the room and yanked the curtains closed, his frown growing larger with each step. Uniforms weren’t worn outside the cave unless it was an emergency. Whatever Damian wanted to discuss, he didn’t appear to be in any great hurry to get on with it. 

Damian made his way to the desk and eyed Tim’s abandoned tumbler. 

“What is it?” Bruce spoke up as the silence dragged on. “Tim and I were having a rather important conversation.” 

“One that was over,” Tim snapped. 

“One that is just getting started.” Damian picked up the glass and sniffed. “You might want another drink, Timothy.” 

“Not likely.” Not here. Selina was going to _love_ this.

Bruce retrieved the decanter and another glass, then returned to the desk. Somewhere along the way, he’d abandoned his own. 

Anger still simmered beneath the surface, flaring as Tim watched him fill the three tumblers to the brim. So Damian got to drink sooner than the rest of them had? Figured. 

“Why are you interrupting us?” Bruce asked, somewhat sharply. “You were to ready yourself for patrol without me.” 

Damian picked up his glass and took a delicate sip. “Did you know that whenever you have a private conversation with Timothy in here, I listen in? This room is the most heavily monitored in the house, after all. It’s practically child’s play.” 

“You little shit,” Tim shoved away from the door, readying himself for the fight that was to come. The thought of punching that brat in the face propelled him forward. “How _dare_ you?” 

Even Bruce frowned heavily. “Damian…” 

“Most of what you discuss has no interest for me,” Damian continued like he hadn’t been interrupted. “But tonight… Well, I’ve been waiting for this moment for a _very_ long time.” 

“Damian, leave,” Bruce ordered. “Go back to the cave. Tim and I still have a lot to discuss.” 

Tim narrowed his eyes and came to a stop, taking them both in. Damian, who looked so much like Bruce it was almost painful. He was up to something, that much was clear. He was all too calm and collected considering what he'd overheard tonight. Then it hit him like one of the sucker punches Jason still enjoyed unleashing when the whim struck.

“You knew.” 

Bruce faltered. “What?” 

“You knew all along,” Tim repeated, stronger this time. 

Damian took another sip and smiled. “I did. And let me tell you, _big brother_ , that it has been a fascinating experience watching you all these years.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...  
> ...  
> ...
> 
> One more chapter to go!


	5. Chapter 5

What the ever loving  _ fuck _ ? 

Bruce recovered quickly, wrapping himself in an invisible cowl that screamed Batman was now large and in charge. “Explain.  _ Now _ ,” he growled. 

Tim agreed, but held his tongue. Now more than ever, he needed to keep his emotions under control. The glacial chill re-established itself as his breathing calmed. 

His younger brother’s pleased smile grew sharp. Clearly, he was enjoying this. “It’s all rather simple. Many years ago, Grandfather obtained a physical sample from Timothy and ran his DNA for his records. But, unlike your computer, Father, his ran a protocol to search for a match. Initially, it was to learn about other possible relations that could be used against him. When it flagged you as a match, well, Grandfather was intrigued and he's been fascinated by Timothy ever since. I’m honestly surprised the possibility never occurred to you.”

Bile rose up the back of Tim's throat. Ra’s knew. That explained _so_ much.

“It did,” Bruce admitted. “But since Ra’s never spoke of it, I had no reason to pursue the inquiry.”

Tim saw red. Rage melted through the calm he’d tried to maintain and this time, he welcomed it. “Seriously, Bruce? I understand not wanting to reveal your hand and all that, but wow. You’ve known I was your son for ten years.  _ Ten years. _ No wonder Ra’s keeps coming after me. He believes you don’t care.”

“You know that’s not true,” Bruce tried, but Damian interrupted.

“Actually, it is,” he stated. “This is why Mother has never been fond of Timothy. Grandfather always made certain she and I both knew that he had another heir in mind should either of us fail him.”

At those words, bile rose up the back of Tim’s throat and he swallowed hard. “Is that why you never said anything?”

Damian shrugged, the movement effortlessly graceful even beneath his cape. “At first, it was because Mother didn't want me to. She said your being unaware of your true lineage was a boon for me to take advantage of.” His eyes hardened. “When I arrived, you were useless. A true son of the Batman wouldn't have carried himself or behave as you did. I kept silent because I'd vowed that one night, I would kill you and it wouldn’t matter anymore. That  _ you _ wouldn’t matter to anyone, anymore.” 

Ouch. Then again, this wasn’t anything Tim didn’t already know. “Yeah, I’m definitely feeling the love here,” he muttered.

Damian glanced at Bruce, ignoring his words in favor of continuing his story. “But then Darkseid cast Father into the timestream and we thought him dead. All of us except for you.” 

Those months still ranked as some of the worst of Tim's life. 

“When you returned to Gotham victorious, I realized where I had erred. Being the son of the Bat was more than just physicality and battle prowess. More than strategy. It was about analytical thinking and seeing more than appeared on the surface. In essence, it was about being a detective, a lesson Mother and I had failed to understand.” Damian paused and took another sip from the tumbler. “And that is why Grandfather considers you his heir instead of his own flesh and blood.”

The admission came out of nowhere and struck Tim harder than any blow. Did Damian just admit he was deficient or lacking in some way? That's it. He must have stumbled into some parallel world because Damian Wayne did not admit to his failures. 

“I have no desire to be the heir to Ra’s al Ghul,” Tim stated, gathering up the remnants of his control. “If Ra’s believes otherwise, then he is sadly mistaken.”

The smug expression on Damian’s face had his fist itching to punch it. “Grandfather will believe what he wants to. It makes no difference to me if he’s right or wrong.”

“Why is that?” Bruce asked before Tim could get a word in.

“Because I will still come out ahead,” Damian replied. “One day, I  _ will _ be Batman. No one else in this house cares about maintaining your legacy when you are gone.”

Tim scoffed. “He’s not dead yet.”

“I have already said I don’t want any of you becoming Batman when I’m gone,” Bruce said, voice harsh as he made his stance clear. “Dick disobeyed my wishes.”

“I hate to admit it, but you’re wrong there, Bruce,” Tim interjected. “This city needs a Batman. Even one as shitty as Damian.”

That earned him a sneer, but before the argument could gain any ground, Bruce brought them back to the matter at hand. “This topic will be explored at a later time. For now, Damian, I’d like to know why you’ve kept your secret for as long as you have. The events you spoke of occurred years ago.”

Tim took a small amount of perverse pleasure in seeing Damian’s confidence wilt ever so slightly now that the conversation had turned back on him. 

“It is as I said,” Damian replied, taking a sip of scotch to cover the slip. “I do not have the instinctive skills to be a successful detective like you and Timothy. But that does not mean I didn’t try to learn.” His green gaze returned to Tim. “I decided I would watch you. Try to emulate you, even. By dogging your steps, I would learn what I needed to become the true heir,” he finished with a self-deprecating twist to his lips. 

Tim remembered those days. The brat had been underfoot almost constantly, poking his nose into everything he did. Kon had called him his pet demon and joked about bringing some holy water the next time Damian followed him to Titan’s Tower. Seeing it now in a new light, his brother’s actions were clear. And, sadly, he was also right. Damian was many things, but a detective was not one of them. 

The realization didn’t stop him from prodding what was obviously a sore spot. “Did it work?”

He already knew the answer.

“No.” But Damian admitted it with a smirk that wouldn't look out of place on Jason. “However, I no longer wish to kill you.”

“Well that's something, I suppose.” Tim arched a brow. “But you still haven’t answered the question. Let's face it, you love to lord your superior knowledge and intellect over people.” He closed the gap between them and rested a hand purposefully on the back of Damian's chair, looming over him. “So why didn’t you? It had to be tempting…”

The teen’s grin grew, sharp and flashing teeth. “Am I not allowed to indulge in my own private entertainment? Belittling you, mocking your parents, questioning your abilities, it's been how I’ve found amusement in the face of my defeat. While I have no doubt I will be Batman one day, I will not be better than the one who came first.”

That was… surprisingly mature for someone who hadn’t quite reached seventeen years yet. Tim wasn't sure he'd have been capable of it himself at that age. Actually, considering how his sixteenth year went, he definitely wouldn't have been able to. 

“Are you really defeated then?” he asked slowly. “You just said it yourself – You will be Batman one day. That sounds like a victory to me.”

Damian stood from his chair to come face-to-face with Tim. The few inches difference in their height still rankled. “It is a hollow victory because the one who should be Batman does not care to take on the mantle.”

“What?”

“In Father’s eyes, you are the golden child, the one who can do no wrong. Everyone believes it’s Richard, but in truth, it is you, Timothy.  _ You _ , who would walk away from it all if he was given the right opportunity to do so.”

It stung that Damian wasn’t entirely wrong. 

“I don’t see any of you stepping up to do what needs to be done,” Tim snapped, going on the defensive to justify his current track. So what if he didn’t patrol as often as the rest of the family? “All of this, all our little toys and gadgets. The cars, the lab, the state-of-the-art equipment, you think it comes cheap?”

“I know how much it costs. What I’m curious about is if you realize what it’s costing you.”

Inwardly, Tim bristled. How did this brat figure it out? When? He’d told no one,  _ no one, _ his true reason for wanting to leave his cowl behind. Hell, he’d barely been able to admit it to himself. All the glimpses of his future he’d seen, even if they were only possibilities, one constant remained firm amongst them.

“I thought you said you weren’t observant?” he growled, peeved that Damian had been able to see straight to the core of his decision.

“I managed to learn that much.”

Bruce leveled his weighted gaze on him. “Tim? What are you implying?”

“I don’t want to be Batman. I don’t want anything to do with it.” Tim’s words were even as he met Damian glare for glare. “I’ve seen what it does to people. What it’s done to Dick.”

“What it’s done to you if those other timelines are to be believed,” Damian continued. “I read your casenotes. The extent to which you are willing to go for justice…”

“Is not a path I intend to go down. I’ve seen what I turn into when I put on that particular cowl and it is not something I’m proud of.” Tim stood tall, shoulders back and head held high. “This city might always need a Batman, but it does not need me. I’d be no better than Jason when he first started off as the Red Hood.”

The smug look returned with vengeance at his acknowledgement. “So the obvious choice is me. As it should always have been.”

Tim shoved a finger against his chest, pressing hard on the emblazoned ‘R’. “Perhaps. But if you dare to cross the lines Bruce has drawn, you won’t even have a chance to blink before I take you out and put you down like a rabid dog. The Bat, Robin  —  These are badges to be worn with pride for the good of others. To help people. They’re not for some puffed up little boy with a grandiose sense of entitlement.”

Bruce sighed, a brief flash of pain from the man beneath the mask. “Tim, Damian. Stop it. Both of you.”

“Damian needs to hear this. And so do you.” Tim didn’t break from the staring match between him and his younger brother. Damian might have read his casenotes about the future selves he’d encountered over the years, but that wasn’t the same as experiencing them himself. “This is precisely why I can never be Batman. Because I am not only willing, but more than capable of holding up my end of this threat. And that terrifies me.”

It was just as terrifying to reveal a weakness to Damian, but there was no other way to drive his point home. He’d made his decision and would stick to it. His own sanity depended on it.

To his surprise, Damian reached out and clasped his shoulder. The gesture of camaraderie threw Tim off as voluntary touch between them was still limited to the sparring mats. “Brother, I have no doubt you are capable of bringing me to heel should I stray from the right path. To make me see not only reason, but also humanity and compassion. You are the only one I trust to do it. After all, blood calls to blood.”

He sounded... _ proud? _ What? That’s it. Tim was done trying to interpret anything Damian said or did. He wasn’t touching that landmine with a ten-foot pole, not now and possibly not ever. “Seriously, do you even listen to the words that come out of your mouth? Who speaks that way?”

“Batman.”

The scotch on Bruce’s desk called to him and he shamelessly shrugged Damian’s hand away to retrieve his glass. At this point, if monkeys broke through the windows and started flying through the study, he doubted he’d be fazed by it. To borrow a phrase from Jason, he’d run out of fucks to give. He needed to get out of here and process what the hell just happened. Damian’s little bombshell had changed everything.

“Slow down, Tim,” Bruce cautioned as Tim all but chugged the scotch down.

Flipping off his father was oddly cathartic.

“You’re not Todd, Timothy,” Damian tried to say, but Tim repeated the gesture.

“You clearly have no idea how much I’ve drank in the last few days,” he snapped. “Although Jason might have had more than me last night. Dick would know.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “Dick and Jason know about this?”

“That I’m your blood son? Geez, Bruce. You can’t even say it.” 

“You are my son, Tim. You and Damian, Dick and Jason. All four of you are my sons.”

Hearing his name grouped with Damian’s now was just wrong. But it was the truth, wasn’t it? Damian was his half-brother by blood. 

Kon was going to flip when he heard about this.

“I would think that Timothy and I would rank higher,” Damian said, taking another almost delicate sip from his scotch. The way he drank, it was almost like this was his first time.

“You’re all equal in my eyes,” Bruce stated firmly. “I said that to Tim earlier before you interrupted us.”

“But surely blood means —”

“Blood means nothing,” Tim said, staring contemplatively at his empty glass before setting it down on the desk. “Damian, if there’s one lesson you’ll ever learn from me, let it be this one. In this house, what binds us together is stronger than blood. We are family because of Bruce. The fact that he had sex with our respective mothers means nothing. We’d still be family even if he hadn’t and we were born other people.”

The confused look on Damian’s face matched Bruce’s. “But you just said that Father can’t even acknowledge you as his blood son.”

Tim sighed, weary to the bone. He wished he dared stay the night here and rest, but doubted he’d be left alone if he tried. “He can’t because it doesn’t matter to him.  _ Blood _ doesn’t matter to him.”

“Blood is all that matters,” Damian insisted. “You and I, we are the sons of the Bat.”

Snorting, Tim shot a glance over to Bruce, remembering what he’d said earlier about Damian still being a work in progress. “This is your problem, not mine. Time to step up to the plate,  _ Dad. _ ”

With that parting shot, he left the study, ignoring the calls behind him.

* * *

A few nights later, Tim stood at the top of Wayne Tower, his cape flapping in the wind. On the streets below, cars and people milled around, taking advantage of the late summer nights and the long twilight. Up here, he could still see the faint vestige of a colorful sunset, but in the city proper, true night had fallen. In minutes, the crowded streets would start to empty as the city slowly readied itself for slumber.

He loved this time. No one else was out yet, but it wouldn’t be long. An hour at most before the roar of the Batmobile would be heard patrolling Gotham’s streets. The car put the fear of the Bat into the hearts of criminals nearly as much as Bruce’s caped figure falling on them from above.

Senses alert, he felt more than heard the shift in the air that signaled he wasn’t alone.

“Timothy,” came Damian’s voice as he joined him out on the gargoyle.

“Damian,” he replied, voice level as he kept his attention on the night. 

The last few days, he’d paid no mind to the messages left by Damian and Bruce, preferring to keep his own company. He’d spoken once to his mother so that she was aware of what happened. Selina was livid with Bruce, but it seemed more directed at his treatment to spare Damian’s feelings than at anything else.

It was rather nice to have a protective mama-cat in his corner.

“How have you been?” Damian asked, tentatively as though he were uncertain of his welcome.

Tim didn’t feel like shoving him off the side of the building so that was a start. “Busy,” he replied, voice clipped and short. “I’ve spent much of my time helping Lucius prepare for a shareholder meeting.”

Those were never fun. He’d stood off to the side as Lucius made his presentation, a token Wayne figurehead to lend support and credence to the aging CEO. His time to stand in that role was fast approaching and they, as well as Bruce, knew it.

Was he ready? No, but he doubted he ever would be.

“I watched a recording of it,” Damian offered. “Why didn’t you speak?”

“Because it wasn’t my place,” Tim replied. “Everyone knows I’ll be taking over for Lucius soon enough. But for now, he’s still the one in charge.”

His brother was silent for a time, no doubt picking and choosing his words carefully. While Tim had effectively ignored him, it didn’t mean he hadn’t read his messages or listened to his voicemails. Each one was a masterpiece in its own right, of a younger brother seeking out his elder one. 

Too bad Damian had two other older brothers besides him, one of whom he was rather close with and vented to about the current situation. Dick had made sure to keep him apprised, although he’d also said he was staying out of this mess.

Tim didn’t blame him in the slightest.

“Father has decided to issue a statement to the press about your parentage.”

“What?” Tim finally looked over at his brother. “Why?”

“Because he thinks this is what you want. If you’d answered his calls, you would know this.” Damian smirked the same way he did when landing in the midst of a group of criminals before he started breaking bones. Asshole. “The story is that we decided to use one of those ancestry websites to track our origins. The details of your test and his came back with some...  _ irregularities. _ ”

Tim had to admit, that was a good cover story. “Is that what he’s calling it?”

“Yes. After some more extensive testing in a WE-approved facility, it was determined that you are in fact his son rather than the son of Jack and Janet Drake. He’s leaving your mother out of it.”

“Aww, now isn’t that nice of him?” A new voice purred from the darkness. Selina emerged in full costume from the base of the spire. “And how convenient.”

Damian stiffened even as Tim grinned at his discomfort. “Father saw no need to bring you into things.”

“You meant to say I’m not answering his calls either,” Selina replied, challenging him.

“No, you’re not.” Damian returned his attention to Tim, ignoring the still grinning cat-thief. “Timothy, please. For the first time in my life, I am finally able to speak with you as I do Richard. There are so many things I wish to say.”

“I’m still waiting for the most important one.”

“Which is?”

“An apology.”

“I already explained why I didn’t speak up,” Damian retorted, going on the defensive.

Tim knew his glare could be seen even with his cowl in place. “You kept your silence after it no longer mattered because it  _ amused you. _ ” 

He sighed and shook his head. It still hurt, what Bruce had said and Damian had done, but he’d work his way through the pain because that’s what he did. Between his father and his brother, he was definitely the most emotionally stable. Probably because he had actual friends to talk to about the shitstorm that was his life. Kon was picking him up tomorrow afternoon for a week on Maui. Bart and Cassie would be joining them in a couple of days. A week away from everything with his best friends sounded like absolute heaven. 

“Damian, one day, probably sooner than I’d like, I’ll give you what you want. But for now, I’d rather spend the time getting to know my mother better.”

“That means get lost, little bird.” Selina retrieved a grapple gun from her belt and Tim did the same. “My son and I have a museum exhibit to explore together.”

“More like supervise you to make sure nothing goes missing,” Tim replied, rolling his eyes.

“Why, I never! Please, it’s not even cat-themed.” Selina’s smile lit up the night as she leaped gracefully to the next gargoyle and crouched, readying herself to spring into the night.

“But it does have some rather expensive jewelry.” Tim shot Damian a pointed glare and he backed up, giving him space to do the same.

“Fine, I’ll behave myself. Just this once.” With that, she flung herself off the gargoyle, freefalling into the night.

“Timothy,” Damian said just before he did the same. “Tomorrow, maybe we can meet for coffee and talk?”

The nervous tone was back in his brother’s voice and Tim finally realized what it was. He feared being rejected by him, just as he’d been rejected by his own mother and, to a certain extent in his early years with the family, his father. 

What a mess. No wonder the kid was still as messed up as he was. So fixated on blood meaning something. To him, it was all he had.

Fine then.

“Tomorrow morning, at seven. The coffee shop in the lobby downstairs. I have to be in the office by eight thirty,” Tim offered, before launching himself into the night after his mother. 

He knew without even hearing Damian’s reply that he’d be there. But his comm crackled to life as the wind whipped past him, confirming his thoughts.

“I’ll see you at seven,” Damian said. “Do try and get some sleep tonight. I need you coherent, not drooling into your coffee.”

“Who’d have thought you’d turn out to be such a nag?”

“One of us has to be. I need you by my side, brother, so that I can be a successful Batman.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Try learning how to be a brother first.” Tim swallowed as he shot his line out, waiting for it to catch and his momentum to swing upward before continuing. “I’ll do the same.”

“You’re already used to having brothers.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never really had to be the big brother before.”

There was a long pause before Damian replied. “I see. In that case, we shall learn together.”

“I still want to punch you.”

Tim could hear the smirk in Damian’s voice even as he spoke. “Only the first one is free. The rest you have to work for.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, a massive thank you to txbookeater for the beta. This story would not be what it is without her guiding hand and wonderful ear. 
> 
> Second, another big thanks to all the readers out there! The response to this story has been overwhelming and I'm simply amazed by the sheer number kudos and comments. Thank you!!


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